


Hush

by theparadox



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Library Sex, M/M, Public Blow Jobs, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-02 23:22:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6587317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theparadox/pseuds/theparadox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Night has fallen upon Skyhold, and the library is empty save for the Inquisitor and his anarchist archivist. Silent, save for soft sighs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hush

**Author's Note:**

> The boys need Andraste.
> 
> Minor trigger warning: Slight mention of the non-con of Aristide's past, as he was a slave and escort. The concept does not apply to this ficlet. Everything in this story is completely consensual.

It is barely the fall of the evening. A good amount of the rotunda’s occupants have gone, either to retire for the night or to enjoy a late supper. Aristide did pass by Solas leaving as he entered. Though they cannot be entirely certain that the open area is completely deserted, despite the occasional squawk of Leliana’s birds in the top ring.

As such, they must practice the art of silence. A practice easier said than done.

Dorian barely remembers it in time to catch his breath that threatens to form into a moan – though it is _hardly_ his fault. No, rather, it is the fault of his entirely wicked lover, who currently resides happily between his legs. Kneeling in a pillow on the floor (Dorian would not defile such beautiful knees with the cruel stone), the Tevinter’s knees hiding his body from common view, and the book barely grasped in his hand shielding his face, Aristide happily proceeds to torture his sinfully darling man. Dorian must bite the knuckle of his finger to keep the sound caged inside as the elf practices a particularly damning action with his tongue. An action he _knows_ Dorian adores.

That devilish creature.

Aristide must have far more awareness than Dorian, for just as the book is about to slip from the tanned fingers and crash onto the ground, the blond pulls it from the loosening hand, silently setting it aside without breaking a moment in his activity. Even worse still – Dorian can _feel_ the smirk of his lips, muddled though it may be in the curve around his skin.

Dark fingers seem to find their way into the cascade of golden curls, simply resting; stroking and soothing and encouraging. Dorian has no need to guide him. Aristide knows exactly what to do, as though he was groomed for the activity.

In his current haze, Dorian attempts not to allow the fact that he _was_ groomed for such a thing cloud his arousal. This was Aristide’s idea. It was _his_ idea to push his wise-cracking _amour_ back into his chair, to clasp a hand over his mouth in ensuring silence, to part his legs and drop to his knees in order to access. Aristide is no victim. He is in command.

This fact increasingly becomes _abundantly_ clear as Dorian’s breathes come faster, shorter. He must press a fist to his lips to keep the cone of silence, his fingers tightening in the glorious curls in his lap. Aristide knows exactly how long it takes.

Just as bright hazel eyes lift to connect with his _amour_ , Dorian is done for, entirely powerless to stop the rush of sensation. It lasts either a second or a year, and before he can inhale once more, Aristide is smiling up at him, his trousers refastened, and absolutely no evidence of the activity. For a moment, Dorian considers the presence of magic, until Aristide lifts closer to kiss him and he can taste _himself._

“You are an absolutely _wicked_ thing, you delicious creature.”

“Hmm. I was about to say the same of you.”

With a soft smile, far more innocent than a man can _truly_ wear after performing such an activity, Aristide leans away, maintaining eye contact until turning round the corner.

Dorian is very much in trouble.


End file.
